


Wulvenweald Part 1

by devilcultt



Series: Wulvenweald [1]
Category: Original Work
Genre: Fantasy, Gen, Implied Neglect/Abuse, Some angst, mentions of parental death
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-17
Updated: 2020-02-17
Packaged: 2021-02-28 05:46:59
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,279
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22768765
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/devilcultt/pseuds/devilcultt
Summary: Feeling unwanted and discarded, a girl is left on the doorstep of a mansion in the woods, hoping for a new start away from her previous living situation.
Series: Wulvenweald [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1636993
Comments: 1
Kudos: 4





	Wulvenweald Part 1

**Author's Note:**

> fangz 2 the people that proofred this for me (u know who u are)
> 
> Part 1 of what I'm hoping becomes a fully realized series inspired by my previous work involving a certain girl and her werewolf lover. If you're familiar, then this will be the events detailing how they come to meet each other and how their relationship slowly grows.

A lone mansion stood in the middle of the woods, crowded by tall trees and nearly hidden by the overhead canopy. Ivy tendrils crawled and clung to its walls, slowly reclaiming the stones from which it was built back to the earth. A girl stood before the set of massive double doors, dressed in a thick, oversized coat to ward off the brisk Weald air that caused her legs to shiver incessantly. 

Despite the sheer size and opulence of the estate, no signposts or placards offered any indication of where she had been brought. A lone mansion stood in the woods, and a girl stood before the mansion. 

She was not alone, however—not truly. Even from so far away, far along the dirt road, Anya could still feel her aunt’s oppressive gaze burning holes into the back of her head, waiting for the doors to open so they could finally be rid of each other. 

Anya took the grotesque door knocker and struck it three times as instructed, repeating the process several times until the door finally opened—just a hair’s breadth, with a single inquisitive eye staring up at her.

“Can I help you?” The eye asked with just enough interest to not sound completely rhetorical.

Anya sniffled, wiping her face with an oversized sleeve and fishing a sealed letter from her coat pocket, sliding it through the space left in the door before it promptly closed again. The next time it opened, a well-dressed and sharply-groomed halfling beckoned Anya inside without a word. She didn’t want to stare, but she’d never seen a person of such… stature before. She’d heard stories, of course, about how halflings steal into the bedroom windows of misbehaved children and hack off their toes in the night, but—

“Are you coming, miss?” The concierge chirped impatiently, breaking Anya free from her musings.

She gathered her suitcase and cast one final glance out onto the road before stepping inside. The silhouette of her aunt and the carriage had already disappeared among the trees and over the horizon.

The sheer vastness of the foyeur made Anya feel small—miniscule even. Her guide instructed her to wait while they went to retrieve their mistress, promptly hurrying up the massive set of grandiose split stairs that occupied much of the foyeur interior. Anya nodded and thanked them halfheartedly, appraising herself in a nearby mirror in hopes of looking as presentable as she could manage. She grimaced at the emotional mess staring back at her: her otherwise blue eyes had turned pink from furious tears, leaving trails on her freckled cheeks that had dried some time ago. 

Oddly, there was nowhere to sit and wait in the foyeur, so she stood clutching her luggage tight against her chest as she took in her new surroundings. The interior appeared well-maintained; from the walls hung decorative weapons and painted portraits of a beautiful, youthful dark-haired woman with high brows and cheekbones, whose sharp, narrow eyes seemed to follow Anya as she idly wandered, scrutinizing her every move.

A variety of potted plants in bloom (many of which were unrecognizable and alien) sat upon end tables and glass cabinets filled with curios, all lit by the ceiling windows overhead that revealed an endless canvas of gray overcast skies. The glass case nearest to Anya held many seemingly useless items, like warped hunks of metal or weathered wooden carvings that resembled no creature she’d ever heard nor seen. Another held what looked like a human skull, though it appeared cracked and misshapen, baring extended canines. Her shoes clicked against the spotless tile floor as she absently wandered the room, passing by numerous other shelves and displays containing intricately carved stones and shards of ornate pottery.

Though Anya never saw anyone else pass through the sprawling antechamber, the sound of footsteps and distant chatter—presumably in the mansion’s other corridors and rooms—created a constant, low hum and bustle of ambience.

“Anya!” A voice, low and sensuous, called out to her from atop the steps. “My dear! Welcome to my humble home!”

Anya jumped, nearly yelping from being startled from her little tour of the mansion’s oddities. She turned to face the source of the voice, finding the halfling had returned with a woman in tow; dressed in a dark, feathered gown that matched her long raven locks. The woman in the portraits. She spread her arms wide as she descended the steps, approaching Anya and leaning over to embrace the girl tightly. Anya herself felt obligated to reciprocate, but her arms were still preoccupied with clutching her luggage against her chest. Releasing Anya from the embrace and holding her at arm’s length, the woman scanned the girl’s face for any signs of recognition, looking a little disappointed when she found none. 

“You don’t remember me, do you?”

Anya found herself taking a step back, unconsciously trying to free herself from the woman’s grip. “I’m sorry, I don’t. My aunt wouldn’t tell me where she was taking me.”

The woman released Anya and took a step back, bowing deeply with one hand to her chest. “I am Sevianna, humble mistress of this household.”

The name was familiar; she and Anya’s mother often wrote letters to each other. She could recall many stories told by her mother that mentioned a certain “Sevianna,” but she quickly realized that she knew very little about the woman behind the name.

“How long has it been? You must be, what, sixteen by now?” 

“Seventeen, ma’am.”

“Regardless, I haven’t seen you since you were a baby at your mother’s breast, so I’ll forgive you for having forgotten this face.” The mistress’ laughter faded and tone sobered after a brief pause, realizing Anya was in no mood for self-aggrandizing jokes. She sighed, offering a bittersweet smile. “I’m sorry to hear about what happened to her, and you have my deepest condolences. Yulia was a dear friend and wonderful woman.”

Anya whinged a little at the mention of her mother, but nodded and tried to return a smile anyway. She could tell it still looked forced. “Thank you, that means a lot.” The words came out a bit more monotone than she would have liked; far too accustomed to having to repeat the phrase ad nauseum to other self-proclaimed friends of her mother whom she suspiciously had never met nor heard of prior to her passing.

“But,” Sevianna clapped her hands sharply, hoping to dispel the girl’s melancholy, “if you’re here, now, then surely you understand what that means.”

Anya shrugged. “It means that nasty old bitch didn’t want me around anymore.”

“And she didn’t even have the courtesy to come say hello after all these years. No matter, she and I never got along that well anyway. But you’re unfortunately correct: whatever you did must have finally broken her—”

“I didn’t do anything. She’s just an awful hag who decided that tormenting me had lost whatever entertainment value it once had.” Tears started flowing again, causing Anya’s voice to crack.

Sevianna looked shocked by the outburst, and for a moment, Anya braced herself for punishment. But she wouldn’t shrink away this time. Instead of the sting of a backhand or jab of sharpened nails, the woman leaned forward and wiped away a stray tear from Anya’s cheek with her thumb. “Oh, darling. I did not mean to suggest you deserved whatever punishments she dealt upon you. Stroya’s always been a wicked and jealous person. I understand your anger. You’ll be taken care of here, and you’ll never have to see her again, even if she dares to darken my doorstep. 

“Now then, there’ll be no more need for tears as long as you remain under my care, understood.” She turned slightly to address the halfling servant, still dutifully standing at attention, while still keeping her eyes fixed on Anya’s. “Klelan, be a dear and take her things. Let’s show our new guest to her new room, shall we?”

Anya felt a smile creep upon her lips, and for the first time since her mother’s passing, it felt genuine.

The manse proved to be even larger than it appeared from the outside. Anya could not fathom how long it must have taken to build, let alone in such a remote location.

“This home is my life’s work.” Sevianna stated proudly as she led Anya down one of its many corridors. “But not for my own sake. Many of our residents were, at one point, in a situation much like your own: disowned or dejected for one reason or another. So I have given them a new home, and renewed purpose. However, I must warn you, my dear—you’ve spent your whole life in Raudrig, was that right?”

“Kellig, ma’am.”

“Kellig, of course. Quaint little city, isn’t it? Regardless, you will see many… individuals that the church speaks disfavorably of. Individuals you’d never see within city walls. All I ask is that you treat them with due respect as beloved and productive members of our new family. Much like Klelan, here.”

Anya cast another glance at the halfling trailing behind her, dutifully carrying her trunk. She had no problems with carrying her belongings herself, but both the Klelan and their mistress were quite insistent that her every need be attended to.

“If you don’t mind me asking, mistress—”

“Speak freely, darling.”

“How are you allowed to house them, then?”

Sevianna sighed. “For all of the church’s faults, they’re thankfully above the idea of genocide. As long as halflings and elves and any other nonhumans stay outside their walls, the High Cardinals of Phorosa couldn’t care less if I let them reside within mine. And unless we’re racketeering or hiding fugitives, they have neither the time, the manpower, nor reasonable suspicion to come and harass me.”

“That’s very noble of you.” Anya said, feeling a small swell of pride in her own chest.

“You flatter me, dearest, but think nothing of it.”

As Anya followed the woman down the corridor, she couldn’t help but steal glances into whichever rooms had been left with their doors open. Surprisingly, they did not appear as terribly cramped as she had expected—although the size of some of the beds might have suggested otherwise for some residents.

The hypnotic clicking of Sevianna’s heels stopped. “You will be staying in room 221E. I do hope you’ll find it to your liking.”

Hers was more spacious than the others before it. A queen size bed and writing desk sat beneath a massive circular window that offered a commanding view of the garden to the north. Unlike the other rooms, hers came with a duvet and massive bookshelf that dominated one of the walls, as well as a walk-in closet where others merely had drawers and dressers. The sight of all of it nearly made her gasp with delight—a far cry from the cramped spare room in her aunt’s apartment.

“Normally I keep these rooms reserved for… esteemed guests, shall we say, but such visitors are few and far between, and I have no qualms about letting you reside in it indefinitely, should it please you. If there’s anything you require, my own room is on the third floor—it’s the only one. Feel free to call on myself or Klelan if there’s anything you might need, and we’ll see if we can accomodate you appropriately.” The halfling servant had already hefted Anya’s luggage onto the bed, promptly and wordlessly turning back into the hall, likely to attend their other duties.

Anya turned to Sevianna, mouth slightly agape, trying to adequately express her gratitude and surprise. Her voice cracked a little as she stumbled over the words. “Thank you so much—are you sure?”

The woman raised a single eyebrow, unused to being second-guessed. “Sure of what, my dear?”

“All of this.” Anya said, gesturing vaguely. “I’d be more than happy with any of the other rooms—”

Sevianna placed both hands on Anya’s shoulders, holding her firmly and speaking in a hushed, somber tone. Not quiet enough that prying ears would not be able to hear, but quiet enough to feel intimate. “I’ll tell you a secret: I owe much of what I have today to your mother. Unfortunately, I could not repay her kindness in full when she was still with us, so I aim to do good by you in her stead.” Her thin lips curled into a soft, welcoming smile, the kind that Anya had grown fond of seeing. One hand played with a stray lock of Anya’s hazel blonde hair, tucking it behind her ear. “And I will not be deterred from doing so.”

Anya relished the gentle touch against her skin. She returned the smile, nodding appreciatively, her cheeks flushed with warmth. Although some part of her still wondered if she truly deserved such kindness and hospitality, she decided to push those undesirable thoughts down. At least for a bit. 

“Take your time getting settled. Explore as much as you’d like, but try not to interrupt anyone’s work or go around breaking any locks. In due time we’ll figure out where your skills will be best put to use. Dinner will be served at six. Do you eat meat?

The question took Anya a little off guard, but she did not hesitate to answer: “I’ll eat anything.”

“Excellent. I do hope you’ll enjoy your stay.” With that, Sevianna placed a kiss on Anya’s cheek before closing the door and leaving her alone in her new room.

Despite the invitation, Anya decided against wandering the halls, at least for the moment. Instead, she took time to get settled, unpacking her trunk and hanging up her clothes in the closet before throwing herself onto the bed, threatening to sink into its softness.

Her bed, she reminded herself, her room. As embarrassing as it may have been to admit, the thought was exhilarating, and even a bit overwhelming. Moreover, she’d never have to see Stroya’s face or the look of perpetual disgust that adorned it; she’d never have to suffer another insult or tongue lashing—

Anya rolled over and sighed, staring at the ceiling and trying to clear her head of such unpleasant thoughts. Maybe she deserved some rest before dinner; it’d been a long day on the road and she welcomed the momentary silence and solitude. 

She awoke to the sound of knocking at her bedroom door and the distant peal of bells. The room had darkened considerably as twilight loomed.

“Anya dear, are you still in there?” A muffled, but familiar voice called out from the hallway, tinged with a hint of urgency.

The girl sat up slowly, wiping the sleep from her eyes, still not entirely present. She hopped off the bed and shuffled lazily to the door still dressed in her heavy boots and coat, opening it to find an impatient Sevianna.

“Oh thank the moon. I was afraid you’d have gotten lost.”

“No, I fell asleep.”

“Regardless, it’s past six and we’re late for dinner. You must be starving. Here.” Sevianna extended one perfectly manicured hand expectantly, palm facing up.

Anya, almost reflexively, pushed the hand away, trying to mask her offense at the implication. “I’m not a child and I’m _not_ going to get lost.”

“Darling, just—” Sevianne scoffed, taking the girl’s hand in her and holding it tightly. “Don’t let go.” 

With her other hand she snapped, and in an instant, the interior of Anya’s new room warped and distorted, reforming into the image of a sprawling dining hall. Guests of varying size, shape and race were seated along the entire length of the banquet table, which Anya found herself at the end of. The buzz of mid-meal conversation and clattering of silverware died down for a moment, as all attention shifted to Anya and Sevianna, who had just made quite the grand entrance.

Before she could even react to the thought of instantaneous travel, the realization of having so many eyes on Anya filled her with the impulse to shrink away or hide, but Sevianna’s hand on her shoulder kept her steady, and still.

“My beloved flock.” The woman’s voice boomed throughout the hall, demanding what little attention had yet been given. “Circumstances have delivered unto us a very special addition to our family. The daughter of my dearest friend, Yulia Volein—may she rest peacefully—has found herself at our doorstep, seeking a proper home. I hope you will regard Anya with the same respect as you would me.”

Heat rose on Anya’s cheeks and spread all over her skin as she could feel a hundred eyes turn to her, some sympathetic and others judgmental. Her shoulders tensed but Sevianna’s grip held fast.

“I ask this of you because she will be no ordinary member of this family: I will train her as my ward and inherit my role, my duties, and my estate in the event of my eventual retirement.”

No one knew how to respond at first—least of all Anya. After a brief moment of silence, cheers and applause erupted in the dining hall, giving her little time to process the news. She forced a smile and waved, still hoping to have a quiet meal.

Anya spent the remainder of dinner keeping to herself, stuffing her face with rabbit stew and roasted root vegetables and candied fruits, all the while avoiding eye contact and dodging Sevianna’s conversation, offering only terse, functional responses.

Eventually, the hall emptied out as the other dinner guests finished their meals, with Anya and Sevianna retiring to their respective rooms for the night. But Anya was restless. She climbed the stairs to the third floor, raising her knuckles to knock on the singular bedroom door, before grasping the knob and barging in instead.

“You didn’t think to ask me first?” Anya could barely contain her fuming as she entered.

Sevianna was dressed in a sheer nightgown, seated at her vanity and brushing her raven-black hair in the mirror. “Ask you about what, darling? And keep it down, others might be sleeping.”

Anya approached the woman until they made eye contact in the mirror, either neglecting or refusing to close the door behind her. “About this ‘inheritance’ business. You didn’t think it was worth my consideration first?”

Sevianna did not bother to turn around. “What is there to consider? I can think of no greater honor, and I could think of none more worthy of being chosen as my successor. You should be grateful.”

The frustration and anger boiling in Anya’s blood slowly petered out, leaving her feeling foolish for even pressing the issue. Maybe Sevianna was right, and she was just overreacting.

“It needn’t be an overnight process, my dear. I will teach you how to properly run this household, just as I have done for decades. I have the utmost trust in you, and you’d do well to offer the same to me.” Sevianne finally swiveled around on her stool, looking Anya in the eye and offering a gentle, compassionate smile. “Understood?”

Anya nodded halfheartedly. Whatever else she might have still wanted to say, it was pointless to bring up and prolong the conversation. She should be grateful. She apologized and bade Sevianna a good night before turning back to the door, wanting nothing more than to just sink back into her bed.

Just before she closed the door, Sevianna spoke again. “One last thing: did your mother ever teach you magic?”

Anya paused in the doorway, unsure of how to even respond. “She knew magic?”

The mistress’ lips curled back into that devious smile that both excited and worried Anya. “We’ll start tomorrow morning, then. Good night.”


End file.
